


To Build Sandcastles Out of You

by Kiyara_Iris



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, First Time, M/M, Pining, Talk of Asexuality Spectrum, heavy use of metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-09 21:25:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18925339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiyara_Iris/pseuds/Kiyara_Iris
Summary: Dex's bag goes flying across the room, slamming into the wall next to the window of their hotel room. Derek winces as something crunches on impact, but it isn't his stuff so he doesn't say anything. It’s not like he doesn't understand Dex's anger this time; unlike during the weird, half fights they always seem to devolve into, where Dex’s anger could easily veer off a cliff of sheer incomprehension.Dex and Nursey share a hotel room after a rough game.





	To Build Sandcastles Out of You

**Author's Note:**

> As a person with anxiety, there are a variety of meditative exercises I use, and in this story I have given Nursey one of them.  
> Also posting this a little earlier than I normally would with editing, so apologies if I go back through and rearrange. The main themes and flow will remain unchanged.  
> Enjoy ^_^

 

            Dex's bag goes flying across the room, slamming into the wall next to the window of their hotel room. Derek winces as something crunches on impact, but it isn't his stuff so he doesn't say anything. It’s not like he doesn't understand Dex's anger this time; unlike during the weird, half fights they always seem to devolve into, where Dex’s anger could easily veer off a cliff of sheer incomprehension.

            The game tonight against UPenn had been fast and dirty, the refs looking the other way with infuriating bias. Derek is still buzzing with repressed anger at a cross check Bitty had taken during the last period, finally generating a foul that he’d wanted to punctuate by ripping the opposing d-man’s head off. Dex had actually taken something like that approach when the guy got back on the ice, and found himself out of the next three games and on the receiving end of Murray's rage after the game. 

            So yeah, Derek totally gets Poindexter's less than pleasant mood. He also knows he’s likely to not be much help, being that he can't seem to stop himself from pushing the redhead into splotchy indignation. It was just...cute.

            Derek hadn't always felt that way. Had assumed Dex was your typical New England stuck-up redneck. And maybe he’d started out that way a bit, but Samwell had sunk into his skin.

            Now- a year after a fight about homophobic Republican views not representing the entire spectrum filled with libertarian ideals (which Dex _actually_ considered himself, thank you and fuck off).

            Now- six months after the verbal scuffle over heteronormativity and sexuality that had led Dex shouting right into Derek’s face,

            “No one has _any_ right to tell _anyone_ who or how they should love. Gay, straight, asexual or a fucking group effort!” Derek hadn’t even had to bite back a comment about Dex not knowing the terminology for polygamy, because he was too enamored with the fact he’d included asexuality - like Shitty Knight was whispering sweet G&S nothings in his ear - that he’d had just nodded, wide eyed and probably too adoring because Dex’s eyebrows had scrunched, his cheeks flushing even higher before he’d huffed and turned away like an angry dragon who’d prepared to viciously raze a village to the ground, only to find the villagers completely supportive.

            Now- after the blowout last semester about sharing dibs to which Nursey couldn’t quite contain his joy at having the redhead for a roommate---and then their _epic_ blowout just a month ago when Dex had rage quit their room and tried to relocate to the basement.

            (In the stunned silence that swept in to fill the Dex-shaped space, Derek finally, _finally_ assembled all the trembling pieces that had been growing larger and warmer in his chest. Because there in the memory of Dex actually cracking and storming out of their space, he realized he liked Dex. He _like_ liked Dex. A lot.

            Fuck.

            After a few hours of deep breathing and Neruda’s words of strong soft love, Derek eventually swallowed his hurt and rejection -barely admitting to the overwhelming terror clawing up his insides- and made his way down to the basement. He leaned against the dryer while Dex tried to ignore him from a blow-up mattress he’d managed to scrounge up. That had been the first time he’d looked at Dex’s flushed face and thought “cute”; had looked at Dex’s shifting muscles as he balanced his laptop and thought “sexy”. For the first time in his life the lust that curled in Derek’s lower belly, that had only bloomed in fantasies before, was unfurling deep and real for someone. For Dex.

            Derek leaned heavily against the dryer, nonchalant on the outside, heart poundingly scared just a hint below the surface. Shoved his shaking hands into his pockets and filled his ears with sounds of an imaginary ocean, breathing salty calm onto his terror.

            “Come back upstairs Dex.” He said it quiet, sincere, and maybe a touch too fondly. It made Dex look up, surprised.

            “Why?” It wasn’t a biting question, but it stung Derek horribly that Dex seemed surprised he wanted him around. He shoved down the uncaring shrug that wanted to roll from his shoulders, forcing the words up from his throat.

            “I’m sorry.” It wasn’t nearly enough, but how do you apologize for being an antagonizing ass because you’re an anxiety ridden mess that has to use medication and meditative techniques to stay calm- oh, and also a demi-sexual that has never felt this intensely for _anyone_ and had no idea how deep the bonds forming between them went,

             That in this moment, here, _now_ , he was experiencing real sexual attraction for someone in the flesh for the first time.

            “I’ll pick up my underwear.” He followed with instead and Dex snorted, which was warming in a way that made Derek ache. “Might even stop leaving pie under your bed – but seriously, you like, clean under there every day, I’d thought you’d find it sooner.” Dex rolled his eyes at that one but gave him a considering look.

            “Thought you’d be thrilled to get my homophobic, republican ass out of your space.” Derek ducked his head, embarrassed.

            “Pretty sure I’ve made some assumptions- kinda like how you just assumed I liked macchiatos and didn’t know how to drive.” Dex looked surprised before contrition spread along his features.

            “Yeah I – you sure?” Derek grinned, grabbing Dex’s bag from the floor.

            “Totally man. Having you around is _chill_.” To which Dex outright laughed and the loose, swirling warmth in Nursey’s chest made him lightheaded.)

           

            _Now_ …

            Now Derek watches Dex stomp around the room, practically rip his phone cord from his bag and shove the nightstand away from the wall to get at the outlet and all he can think is that he wants Dex to tell him exactly what he needs, wants him to let Nursey help.

            Derek starts, “Hey man…”

            “I swear to GOD Nurse if you’re gonna say ‘chill’, just shut right the fuck up.” Dex’s voice is a deep growl and Derek feels a thrill of excitement that wants to coax that passion out of the redhead further. He swallows the instinct down, his mind’s eye tracing along a blue horizon.

            “Nah man, was gonna say I’ll be right back.” Dex looks up surprised, and a strange, sad look twists his face before his features are tightly pulled back into something blank and angry.

            “Whatever.” Derek just waves and wanders back down the hall to an alcove that housed a few vending machines.

            “Hey man.” He turns to see Lardo leaning on the door jamb of her room, the TV playing some kind of infomercial in the background. “If you wanted to switch rooms, I can tell Dex I got sick of listening to Chowder talk about Cait like she’s the second coming of Christ. I mean I love them both, but he’s been waxing poetic about her eyebrows. Her _eyebrows_ man.” Derek pushes down the hurt -on him and his roommate’s behalf- that the rest of the team might think they couldn’t handle being alone together. Then he remembers the move to the basement, and he can’t actually blame them. But if anyone is going to be there for Dex, it’s going to be _him_. 

            “Thanks Lard’s, but D-men gotta stick together. Chill, I got this.” Lardo arches an eyebrow and gives him an amused, searching look before calling goodnight and shutting the door. Derek selects a few of Dex’s favorite snacks and is grateful no one else makes a bid for switches on his way back. The new, uncomfortable feeling that erupted when the strength of his friendship with Dex was challenged…well, he didn’t want to go there tonight.

            He keys back into the room and unceremoniously dumps the goods on his bed. He looks up to chirp Dex about liking cola over pepsi (an old, worn argument that feels more like a comfy sweater than a disagreement) and finds Dex staring, eyebrows scrunched and confused.

            “Hey man, what’s up?” Dex shakes his head and looks away.       

            “I thought -” If there’s one thing Derek has finally learned about Dex, it’s that words aren’t always easy when he was feeling a lot. He needed time to cement his thoughts together, cracks Derek had always filled with derisive chirping which would lead to snapping anger (something Dex _never_ seemed to suffer from a supply of). Dex finally sighs, shoving his face into his hands and rubbing them over his eyes a few times. “I thought you went to find someone to switch with you.”

            Derek stares incredulously at the top of Dex’s head. Christ, did no one see the strides they were making? Not even Dex? Was he going to have to fight his own best friend to convince him of their friendship? He takes another deep breath.

            “Nah man, I’m chill. But if, like, you want me to I can ask Lards -” Dex’s head snaps up.

            “No! No, it’s not – it’s fine, I just know I can be a dick. And sometimes we both…just need space.” Derek shrugs, looking away from Dex’s open, honest gaze. Tries to quell his thundering heart and not grin too broadly in relief.

            “You’re fine and like I said, I get it. So, I thought we could cheat our diets a little and maybe watch Netflix. You know, just chill.” Dex snorts.

            “Did you just ask me to Netflix and chill Nursey?” Derek lets out an abrupt, embarrassed laugh, looking over at Dex beneath his lashes. He can totally pull this off as a joke if Dex reacted badly-

            “Maybe I am Poindexter.” He’s not sure what to make of Dex’s surprise, but it’s not anger or repulsion and Derek breaths easier when Dex smiles and shakes his head in exasperation. He’d been trying not to be overly flirtatious since he’d figured out his less than platonic feelings, worried his sincerity would bleed in. But maybe, he can relieve some of this yearning and have the other man be none the wiser.

            They settle on the bed Dex has chosen, leaning up against the headboard, snacks piled around them and que up Deadpool. It’s thrilling, how close their shoulders are, touching whenever one of them shifts. Spikes of heat rush over Derek’s skin whenever they touch while passing snacks between them and he tries to hide his half erection, his body overenthusiastic about this still-new leap in his sexuality.

            When the sex scenes roll up Derek has to shift his knees around as his groin aches. It had taken him a long, weird introspection as well as discussions with his mostly platonic girlfriend in high school, Mira, to finally realize the only porn that did it for him featured couples that obviously cared deeply for one another. He never pictured himself as an interested party, but imagining the sensations were enough.

            He and Mira had kissed, had gotten each other off, but when he’d admitted to her that it made him feel hollow, she’d taken him on a journey through the asexuality spectrum and shown him himself. Far from being mad that he didn’t feel real attraction for her, she’d encouraged him to accept and embrace who he was. Sitting next to Dex, feeling his pulse racing with lust and a mounting hunger for the other man, Derek wonders if this is what it’s like to give yourself to drowning.  

            “God Morena Baccarin is hot.” Derek flushes with the tones his voice sounded dipped in, focusing instead on the couple writhing onscreen; sensual and loving.

            There’s a pause.

            “I thought you liked guys.” Derek snorts and blindly throws a chip at Dex.

            “Shitty would be disappointed man. Yeah, I prefer guys and don’t get me wrong Ryan Reynolds is fucking gorgeous. But I like girls sometimes and she’s a goddess.” It’s a bit of a stretch, and doesn’t cover the crux of his sexuality, but close enough.        

            “Yeah she is.” Dex breaths and his voice is deep set and husky. Derek’s skin tightens, his heart pounding high and quick in his chest at the thought of Dex being turned on and so close to him. “Ryan Reynolds is sexier though.” Derek whips his head around. Dex’s pale skin is blushed a deep pink, clashing gloriously with his hair. Derek clears his throat, the sound dry and forced. A chirp could go so wrong, but he has to know…

            “Dex man, that sounded so sincere I feel like Shitty’d want me to thank you for sharing this moment with me.” Dex ducks his head, taking a long drink from his soda while Derek watches his throat work, trying not to vibrate out of his skin.

            “Maybe you should.” And. Shit.

             Dex carefully sets his soda down on the side table before turning to Derek, honeyed eyes blazing with intent. One of Dex’s hand reaches out hesitantly, fingers curling into a fist a few times, before finally sliding around Derek’s neck, thumb rubbing back and forth against his racing pulse. He breaks out into shaking chills as the other man scoots closer, eyes never leaving his face, their breathing picking up, the air mixing salty between them.

            When Derek was a child he was enrapture by the sea; the endless, turning tides, the sun warmth settling around his shoulder as he built sandcastles out of white sand.

            Dex is nothing like the ocean, but Derek has never been so strongly hypnotized the way he was as a child as he is by the movement of Dex’s muscles as he leans closer, the skin of his nose thrilling against Derek’s cheek, the tickling magnetism that erupts over and inside his mouth when Dex brushes quietly against it. He pushes his lips out when he can no longer bear to remain his own entity and maybe Dex feels the same because their lips slip perfectly together.

            The laptop is quickly moved to the night table because Dex is a pragmatist, snacks unceremoniously tossed away because Derek is impatient, giving them the entire expanse of the bed to lay against each other, angle their mouths back together and start the thrilling exploration of taste and touch.

            It’s a slow slide from there into an intimacy Derek has only built vague fantasies of in his mind. He feels part of himself and yet like Dex is pouring into him, over his skin; his breath filling his mouth, slipping down into his lungs until every breath Derek draws is sweet.

            Whispers and moans fall freely between them as clothes are shed and skin catches on skin, moving so fast and yet their rhythm is slow and halting, mouths meeting again and again. Derek panics at one point, thinking Dex must think he’s boring because all he can do is lie back and let him kiss down his chest, but a panted,

            “Fuck Nursey, you’re amazing.” Blooms hot against his stomach and he lets himself fall back into Dex’s hands, his words, his mouth slipping over him and taking him deep inside. Nursey tries not to let his voice get too ragged, too raw with the wonder of this terra incognita because embarrassment might ruin everything.

            Still, when Dex finally moves back up to press the length of their bodies together, Derek is trembling, hands gripping frantically at Dex’s back as he writhes between Derek’s spread legs, pushing their hips together over and over and his heart is pounding so hard the other man has to be feeling it-

            “Dex please, god, _please_ -” Dex’s moans come faster, reach higher the more Derek begs and pleads, until his throat is constricting, his entire body curling into and around Dex, his orgasm bursting suddenly through his body with an intensity that terrifies him because he’s riding so, so high and he’s always been afraid of falling into the trough…but Dex pulls him in tighter, crying out against his throat and Nursey focuses on the feel of being anchored to the world by a boy that is stronger than any he’s ever known, feeling safe enough to relax into the come down, letting himself fall away from consciousness.

            When he reawakens to sensations, Dex is bracing on his elbows, taking a good part of his weight, but Derek can feel how much he’s shaking as he runs his hand gently across his sweat-strewn back.

            “Dex…” Dex pulls back slightly and his face is flushed, expression soft and Derek’s heart skips several painful beats. He doesn’t realize he’s leaning up until Dex meets him halfway and with their lips back together he realizes how hard he’s shaking too, how hard he’s breathing. Dex’s chest is pushing him into the mattress and he feels surrounded, tethered; it’s something he never knew he wanted to feel. Needed to feel.

            But with another kiss Dex is pulling away completely, heading to the bathroom. Derek stares at the blank, white ceiling and tries to find words for what he’s feeling, but it’s too nascent, too nebulous; a feel of warmth sliding into places once achingly hollow. No wonder there were entire epic poems, whole novels devoted to this.

            Dex wanders back in with a washcloth and Derek smiles at him, melting into the bed when Dex smiles back. He lets the other man wipe him down, enjoying how private and gentle it feels; the warm cloth moving over his body slowly, running his hand up and down Dex’s arm as he methodically works. Finally satisfied, Dex throws the cloth gracelessly to the floor, nudges at Derek’s hip to move him over and curls up around him.

            Derek breathes in the muskiness permeating the air, joy tingling down his back, sparking through his fingertips trailing along Dex’s skin, rumbling like an avalanche inside his chest. He kisses Dex’s shoulder one last time as he feels sleep take him, the salty taste of the sea clinging to his lips.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

            Derek wakes slowly, but once he remembers he’s in a hotel room on a roadie, it’s like a switch is hit and he remembers everything from last night in one sweeping rush.

            He’d had sex.

            He’d had sex with Dex. Those are now two things that have happened.

            Shitty would be overwhelmingly proud. He was the first person after Mira he'd tried to feel things out with and Shitty had been exuberant and supportive as he’d been slowly defining his sexuality, his awkward parsing out of nomenclature and lack of attraction to others. Looks were easy to categorize, but once he’d found that connecting link between his sexual drive and the intensity of his feelings for others- well, it was like waking. He’d found a place to belong, where others like him would find firm footing and they would know exactly what the other meant when they gave the keywords: asexuality, grey ace, aromantic, demisexual-

            And he’d had sex with Dex. _Wanted_ to have sex with him. Had wanted it so badly he’d begged with his words and his body. Had trusted that part of himself with the closest friend he’d ever had. He’s grinning before he realizes it, turning to bury the stupid expression in a pillow before Dex can chirp him for it, feeling so butter warm and giddy he’s delirious with it.

            It’s as he turns that he realizes he’s alone. Which-ok, isn’t strange; the bathroom door is closed, the light visible below it. The blackout curtains are mostly drawn, but the intensity of the light around the edges tells him it’s pretty far into the morning and they need to think about heading down to breakfast. Just as Derek’s wondering if Dex will let him kiss him with morning breath, the bathroom door opens and the other man emerges fully dressed, raking a towel over his head.

            Derek tracks his movements around the room, a tight ache beginning to spiral through his chest.          

            Because Dex isn’t looking at him.

            Okay-he might think Derek is still asleep -but if it were him, he knows he’d be helplessly staring. But- not everyone is Derek.

            That was something he’d drilled into himself early on. He didn’t need to be like everyone else, it wasn’t essential to being a fulfilled and happy person; and in that same turn, other people weren’t going to be just like him. So yes, he would stare and long and ache to touch and if Dex didn’t feel that intensely…that was fine too. But he still needs to start getting ready and so he shifts the blankets off his chest and Dex’s eyes snap to his.

            Derek has a memory of a meditation class he’d taken to try to help deal with his anxiety, vividly remembers the teacher instructing them to lose all sense of time and awareness of their body, to banish all thought and what the next moment would bring. He hadn’t really understood how to do that or what that was supposed to feel like; but Dex is looking at him and his eyes hold…nothing.

            Like he feels…nothing.

            Derek doesn’t move. Doesn’t feel the way his hand clenches the sheets, numbness robbing him of his senses and ability to breath. Dex looks away and what comes rushing back in is steeped in cold, sloshing acidic through his veins like cheap tub juice and devastation.

            “About last night…” Dex voice is small in a way it never is. Dex is expansive, like a rushing tide or roaring fire or a hundred other imperfect similes that Derek has never been able to successfully weave all of Dex into. Derek is terrified. “I mean- it was amazing, you were…” Derek waits, trying to regulate his breathing that wants to become wet and choked, but Dex doesn’t finish the thought, shaking his head instead.

            “Look, against all odds we’re friends and I don’t want this to make things awkward-” Sharp eyes cut up to bore into him and suddenly Derek knows where this is going and he has to focus on precisely timing his breath to not let it become gasping, something delicate and tremulous for Dex to see.

            Like he’d seen Derek be last night.

            His fist clenches tighter into the sheets.

            “Yeah man, no problem.” His voice is not his own. His words echoing from his throat with no cognition pushing them forward. But this-this is what Derek strives to be: a set of perfect, calm responses and witticisms to any situation.

            Every time he’s done this before now was rehearsal- this is the final show.

            His facial muscles are tensing, a lazy smile hijacking his sore lips- _mouth throbbing with echoes of Dex’s passion-_ his body is moving, unfurling- _each itch of pain from fingertips and teeth letting themselves be known_.

            But it’s all so far away.

            Far, far away from the blue, blue skies opening up in Derek’s mind; ocean swells lapping upon a white beach, sand shifting and curling to envelope all his thoughts and feelings, churning them until they have to sink away somewhere that’s not here. Not now.

            Dex is staring at him, he can feel eyes tracing his skin as he gathers clothes from his duffel, letting the fact he’s naked and Dex is staring be pulled into the sand as well.

            “I’m gonna shower. You can head down if you want.” He’s inching around Dex, his mind floating outside his body, completely disassociated in a way that had always scared his therapists. But Dex is his friend. He’ll rend his subconscious and consciousness to shreds before ruining that.

            “You sure? I could…” But Dex can’t be allowed to finish that thought so Derek claps a hand to Dex’s shoulder, almost panicking when the sensation of muscles tensing beneath his hand trigger more memories-

            He drags up images of sand running through his fingers-focuses wholly on the sensation of that silken texture instead.

            “Don’t worry about it man, be right behind you.” And before Dex can answer, can pull anything up from the seaside prison, Derek maneuvers around him and quietly shuts the door.

 

            Derek doesn’t break down in the shower. He washes quick and perfunctory. He shakes the memory of Dex wiping him down away he dries off, he doesn’t linger looks at the washcloth on the floor of their room as he packs.

            He jokes and laughs at breakfast along with everyone else, joins in the bashing of UPenn, giggles when Chowder shows him something funny on his phone Derek will have no recollection of later. And Dex is there, somewhere. Maybe they even talk. But it’s like there is a sheet of plated glass between them, smeared so thick with oil it reduces the other boy to vague shapes, muffles his voice to bare essentials.

            On the bus Derek doesn’t bother sitting next to anyone new. He and Dex have always sat together, and sit together they shall continue. Because Dex can’t know -can _never_ know- how deeply Derek is breaking.

            Is already broken.

            Maybe he pulls his headphones out earlier than he usually does, maybe he tilts his body away from Dex when he’d usually be bothering him in full swing for at least an hour. He closes his eyes and loosens the parts of his mind cobbled together to get him through the moment Dex wouldn’t look at him this morning -to here.

            He knows there are things he will have to deal with; truths that will have to be unburied and allowed to rip him to shreds.

            But if he’s strong, if he doesn’t let himself be stupid; maybe someday he can use those feelings and memories to build sandcastles.

**Author's Note:**

> This piece....did not end how I thought it would. Honestly, I'm heartbroken. I wish I could promise there will be another part, but at this point in time my dears, consider this the end of this timeline. If you must, please create a sequel in your mind that leads our boys to a happier place.


End file.
